Would you, though?

The following just turned up in my Inbox and I had to share.

Austin Healey and his twin daughters Bibi-Dee and Betsy are launching the new Huggies Little Walkers® Denim nappy pants, available for a limited time only from May 1.

Quote from Austin: "Huggies Little Walkers® Denim is a really fun way to give my girls a bit of rock-star style! Bibi-Dee and Betsy have been sofa surfing for some time now and it's been great to watch them take their first steps. This summer, thanks to limited edition Huggies Little Walkers® Denim they can practice every step, twist and dance move whilst looking very cute - in fact we can all rock out together - they even like my taste in music! Little Walkers® Denim is clearly the new favourite in our house."

I can't really decide which is worse. Denim nappies. Or the names Bibi Dee and Betsy...

You can watch more of this drivel at www.huggiesclub.co.uk/denim

Drinking while up the duff, anyone?

Interesting to read about that pregnant woman who was thrown out of a pub when staff spotted her sipping beer.
Caroline Williams, 26, who is 23 weeks pregnant, said she felt "angry and humiliated" after being told to leave the Sussex Cricketer pub in Hove at the weekend.
She had drunk one pint of lager already when the manageress refused to serve her friend another half pint, also meant for Caroline.
The group of friends left it at that and went to sit down again - but then a beady eyed staff member spotted Caroline taking a crafty sip from her mate's glass and that was it.
She was man handled out of the bar like a common drunk. Which must have made an engaging spectacle for onlookers.
"I don't think that one person should have the right to impose their views on everybody else," said Caroline - who has correctly pointed out that drinking while pregnant is not at the moment in any way illegal.
Now you might have your views about whether this woman was irresponsible to ignore current UK guidelines, which say it's best to drink no alcohol at all while pregnant due to possible harmful effects on the foetus.
But the last time I looked, it should not be up to pub staff to become self made guardians of this advice.
Indeed, if pub workers do consider the health and well being of their punters to be so very important, they'd better start pointing out that drinking alcohol can be detrimental to one's health every time someone asks for a pint. Even if they're not up the duff.
But the thing that struck me as particular hilarious about Caroline Williams' story is the way she was whining on about "never being so humiliated in her life" etc.
So what does she do after this terrible incident?
Legs it to the papers with her story and has her photo splashed all over the news detailing every excruciating detail.
Yes, dear. Very humiliating.

Perfect for Bad Muthas

If you fancy taking the kids somewhere they can run around for hours keeping themselves entertained while you have a cuppa and read the paper, Bad Mutha would highly recommend http://www.escapeplay.co.uk/

Came across it by accident while on a shopping trip to all those spiffing new shops near IKEA. Except don' t try and get in via the retail park. Somebody has sensibly designed the new facility so that you can see a tempting glimpse of all the fabulous play zones inside, but there is absolutely no clue about access.

If you want to avoid half an hour of walking round in circles, let me offer you the following useful information. You have to go in the car back onto the main road towards Eastwood, taking the next left to Giltbrook Industrial Estate. Follow the road round and go past the new Screwfix unit until you can go no further. You'll see the car park and entrance.

Another word of warning though - the car park's a bit teeny. I can see that causing severe problems at weekends and during the hols.

DD2 says it's great there (in toddler language anyway) with an unexpectedly large and challenging area for pre-schoolers - and you get free drinks for the £4 entrance price. Bargain.

Words fail me

Happened across this article on The Guardian website the other day and thought I'd share:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/feb/08/motherhood-children-babies

Does it make you wonder (a) what motivates someone to write such unbalanced drivel and (b) how the poor, thick mums she was "stuck with" at those parties managed to actually stay awake instead of falling asleep with boredom at her very presence.

Grrr.

A kid is for life...

My sister said something that really wound me up the other day.

“Ooh it’s just like having kids when you’ve got dogs isn’t it?”

I know she was only trying to get across the point that her dogs are hard work.

But it’s NOT the same as having kids. Not at all.

For instance, when she was making this observation, she was sitting in my house while her dogs were at home on their own.

Much as I’d like to go out and leave my kids at home alone while I swanned off to have tea and cake in someone else’s gaff, I can’t ever do that.

Not without getting a criminal record anyway.

She’s also got a job four days a week.

And funnily enough, I’ve never seen her forking out squillions of quid a week to put her dogs in a nursery while she’s there.

She can nip to the pub, or the cinema or clubbing whenever she feels like it without having to take her pooches with her.

I haven’t been to the pub, cinema or clubbing for years.

Dogs don’t keep you awake much at night crying because their back molars are coming through either.

DD2 was wailing none stop from 10.30pm to 4am the other night.

If she was a puppy, I could have shoved her in the outhouse and left her to it.

But being a human, I had try and offer some comfort.

And I had to put up with her constant moans about wanting daddy instead of boring old me too. (Daddy was indisposed with a case of man flu that night - grrr).

Maybe there are a few similarities between kids and dogs in terms of dealing with poo.

And you can use similar disciplinary measures when they’re naughty etc.

But let’s just be clear.

Dogs are generally speaking a nice, if a little time-consuming, distraction for folk who want an extra interest at home.

Kids are a life sentence.

The forgotten prezzies of Christmas past...

If you're having a major stress-out about trying to buy your kids that "perfect" toy to make their face light up for Christmas, here's a thought.

Can you remember what you bought them last Christmas?

More to the point, can they remember?

Go on, I dare you. Ask them: "What did Santa leave you under the tree last year?"

I bet you all you'll get is a few blank looks and a possible: "Cadbury's Selection Box."

They won't recall the expensive Robo-raptor thing that only came out of its box the once on Christmas afternoon and then remained hidden under a bed until you found it while cleaning last week.

They won't remember the talking Iggle Piggle or the camera which stopped working after half an hour because the batteries packed in either.

And neither will you.

It makes you wonder why you bother buying them stuff at all.

And then there's your other half. Can you remember what you bought him/her?

I haven't a flipping clue, but I bet he took it back and exchanged it for the next brand up just like he always does.

I quite like doing a bit of Christmas shopping and wrapping up boxes and putting them under the tree on Christmas Eve.

But I refuse to get in a state of utter panic about it like some people.

The next time you feel yourself getting anxious because you haven't managed to afford one of those must-have life size talking dogs from John Lewis, take heart.

It would probably just have ended up as a handy place to fling clothes by about January 6.

Merry Christmas!

Gifts for teachers? Eh?

There was a woman on the bus the other day stressing about what she was going to get her DD’s teacher for Christmas.

Would chocolates be all right or would the teacher be fed up if she received 30 boxes of Maltesers?

Should she suggest that the other parents club together to get one big thing?

Should she get vouchers for somewhere or was that a bit off?

I sat transfixed and listened to this enlightening conversation, which she was having with a slightly bored looking friend.

And it suddenly stuck me.

Are you supposed to get a Christmas present for your child’s teacher then?

Because in all the year’s my 12-year-old DD has been going to school, I’ve never once bought her teacher a gift for Xmas.

Indeed thinking about it, I haven’t so much as given a card in previous years.

Does this make me a terrible person?

To be fair, I’ve never bought anything for the woman at Tesco’s, the postman, the bin man or the chap at the petrol station either.

But you’re not really expected to buy anything for them.

Are you?

Why should teachers particularly expect a gift anyway?

They’re only doing their job.

Nobody buys me a gift just for doing my job.

I wonder has this lack of present-buying affected my DD’s marks at school?

Or maybe the teachers have all got together in the staff room to slag me off behind my back.

My point is, with two kids of my own, plus four sisters and two brothers who have about seven million kids between them, I think I have enough people to buy prezzies for at Christmas.

Besides, DD is at secondary school now which means she has lots and lots of teachers every day.

I couldn’t possibly be expected to buy gifts for all of them.

Could I.....?

Telly talk...

I’m one of those people that get a tune stuck in their head and go round singing it ALL day.

It really annoys work colleagues.

Usually it’s a song that I’ve heard on the radio.

But lately, there seems to have been a general change in style.

Here’s an idea of what I sing a lot these days:

Wash, wipe, scrub and clean

Make the kitchen sparkling and clean...

do do do do do...

Or sometimes it can be:

Come for a walk

Come for a ride

There’s so much to see

So come outside....

And perhaps worst of all:

The summer is over....

And winter’s on its way.....

Of course the keen-eyed among you will have noticed that all these ditties have one thing in common.

They can all be heard 20 or 30 times a day on the CBeebies channel.

Yes, I think you’re right.

My toddler does watch far too much telly.

Big Cook, Little Cook is a big favourite, as is Come Outside or as every child in the country knows it, Pippin.

Regulars Andy, Chris, Mr Tumble and the lovely Poi are as familiar and reassuring to DD2 (who is now 19 months) as me and her dad.

Is it terrible, do you think, that as soon as she gets up in the morning, she starts repeating the word “telly” until we give in?

Am I likely to be turning her into a future axe murderer?

Is she destined for a low grade career serving burgers in McDonalds because of her TV addiction?

Maybe.

The funny thing is, though, watching telly doesn’t seem to be doing her any harm at all.

Her vocabulary has increased tenfold over the last couple of months.

And I’m pretty sure she hasn’t learned the words “cook”, “car” and “wash up” from me.

We’re always reading about how dangerous it is to use the TV as a “babysitter” for our young kids.

But I’m not convinced it’s always such a bad thing.

Which is better:

Letting her watch the talented Justin from Something Special doing his brilliant sign language thing for half an hour while I cook the tea?

Or making her sit in the high chair and “interact” with me as I swear like a trooper because I’ve burned yet another perfectly good chicken nugget?

I’ll let you decide.

Hair raising...

I seem to have been born without a basic skill that most females possess as a matter of course.
The ability to do hair up into pony tails and bunches and stuff.
I always made a right hash of the process when I was a little girl and wanted to copy my mates with their cute plaits and funky ponies.
And now I'm a parent, I'm subjecting my two DDs to similar humiliating attempts.
When DD1 was little, I tried everything to force her hair to behave itself so that I could create a nice neat "do." Hairspray, mousse, gel, conditioning spray - nothing worked. It always looked like she'd been dragged backwards through Sherwood Forest in the height of a bad storm.
And now I've got the same problem with DD2, who is 18 months.
She hasn't got that much hair to be honest. But what she has makes her look like a cross between Bobby Charlton doing his famous comb-over and Limahl from Kagagoogoo during his classic "mullet" period.
DP wants us to get it all cut - but I'm having none of that.
She already gets mistaken for a boy all the time - I WANT HER TO HAVE GIRLY PIG TAILS DARN IT!
All the other girls at toddler group have fabulous locks with gorgeous little clips and pretty bobbles. They look so effortlessly neat and tidy.
I've tried doing it with DD2, but my creations are laughable.
And if I do by some mad chance get a little clip in her hair which actually looks quite nice, DD2 immediately grabs it and tries to eat it.
Where am I going wrong?
Are their courses for doing hair up going on somewhere that I just haven't been made aware of?
Is there a website that tells you how to do it?
Or are you just supposed to KNOW?
Somebody point me in the right direction otherwise I fear DD2 will end up being the butt of cruel jokes as she grows older.
As for DD1, who is 11 now, she's come up with her own solution.
She dyed hers all bright red the other day. Looks brilliant.
Grrrrrrr.

Are you a SMOG?

Heard a brand new acronym the other day and thought I’d share it here.
A woman I know got called a “SMOG” by a mate of hers and she couldn’t for the life of her work out what it stood for.
Silly Moo on Gin?
Sluts Make Odd Grandmothers?
Sensible Mums Own Guns?
But no - apparently it turns out this is a new term referring to Smug Mothers of Girls.
Obviously, it’s meant as some sort of insult. Are mothers of girls smug then? And if so, in what way?
Or are the people who came up with the term - mothers of boys, I’m guessing - just jealous?
Let’s face it, girls are much better than boys aren’t they?
I’m not just talking about better baby clothes and stuff, although obviously that is a pivotal consideration
They’re just so much more advanced at all the crucial developmental stages too - walking, talking, shopping…
And they aren’t as blardy naughty.
In fact, now I come to think of it, almost every small boy I know has at some point behaved like a proper little sod in front of me.
Kicking footballs at my head in my living room; breaking expensive furnishings; pulling my cat’s tail...
“Ooh, they just need to play fight sometimes - so much energy,” defend their parents.
Just need a good clip round the ear, more like.
Yet, apart from a few notable exceptions, all the little girls I know are lovely little pixies who sit quietly and do whatever they’re told without a fuss. Sigh.
Mothers of girls have every right to be smug in my humble opinion.
Until the girls reach the age of about 12.
Then you aren’t so much “smug” as just “relieved you’ve got through the entire day without committing murder.”

I'm fighting mad about DD2

DD2 got involved in a bit of an “accident” at the toddler group we go to this week.
I say “accident.” What I mean is she got jumped on and physically assaulted by another little girl.
If it had happened at Gatecrasher or Oceana, a couple of burly bouncers would have pounced on the culprit and escorted her off the premises at the very least.
But because DD2 is only 18 months and her attacker about two, I’m supposed to just accept this. Grrrr.
DD2 had been on the little red rocking ride, merrily perfecting her balancing prowess.
The other little girl decided to squeeze on behind her.
But as there isn’t room for two tots, she decided to sit directly on top of DD2 as though she wasn’t there and carry on rocking the device until they both fell to the floor bawling their eyes out.
This all happened in the space of ten seconds and though I rushed over as soon as I was able (ie when I could safely dispose of me cuppa), I was too late to prevent the inevitable.
The other girl’s mother was, of course, not watching at all.
She only came over to see what all the fuss was about when a crowd gathered to comfort the two “victims.”
“Oh what happened? Did they run into each other?” she enquired casually.
“No, actually your daughter sat on top of mine and pulled the ride over on top of both of them,” I corrected her.
Funnily enough this seemed to go completely over her head.
And when some other concerned people came over to ask what had happened, she confidently informed them: “They just ran into each other.” Double grrrr.
I was quite close to making a formal “breaking news” announcement about what had really happened, complete with corroborating evidence from three or four other witnesses who saw it too.
But it’s just not the done thing to make a fuss about that kind of behaviour in a toddler group setting, is it? Even when it’s the same terrible tots causing the trouble every time.
Shame really.
It would be quite nice to involve the police and make the little monkeys appear in court and get a hefty fine or whatever for bad behaviour.
Forget naughty steps. Let’s have a bit of proper discipline, eh?

A difficult relationship

I’ve lived with him for four years now and our relationship has hit a desperately rocky phase.
Oh, he has his good points. He’s good looking, cool, suave and sophisticated - I’m the envy of many of my friends, in fact.
But sometimes his behaviour is so cruel and despicable towards me, the kids, our neighbours - I just can’t bear the torment any more.
I think the time has finally come to admit it.
I hate my cat.
Honestly, he’s a complete git and I’m starting to wonder what is the point of him living in the Bad Mutha household at all.
He never gives any of us any affection - slinking away if you so much as try to give him a friendly pat.
If he deigns to come and join us as we relax in the living room in the evening, he won’t sit on my knee like cats are supposed to. He’ll trot off on his own to some remote corner, then start randomly clawing at the furniture or carpet until he annoys us so much we have to chuck him outside.
We had to withdraw his cat flap privileges several months ago because he kept bringing mice into the house.
Live mice.
Who then escaped and set up home in various other parts of our ground floor. One managed to live quite happily inside the sub woofer speaker underneath the telly for quite some weeks. Which was odd.
So now the cat is only allowed free access to the conservatory.
And that’s where he mainly prefers to stay now, the antisocial little lowlife.
The thing is, DD2, who is 17 months absolutely adores him.
She screams with delight whenever he comes inside to eat his food and tries to give him a kiss.
One of the first words she uttered was: “Cat!”
He repaid her last night by scratching her face.
Evil little tosser.
So what do I do?
I couldn’t bring myself to drop him off at the RSPCA - the guilt would be too much for me.
And much as he deserves throwing in the local pond, animal cruelty just isn’t Bad Mutha’s style.
My only hope is that he wanders off and finds some little old lady to move in with.
Or maybe you know someone who’s looking for a cruel, annoying, unfriendly, unlovable, selfish, not very clever, fairly violent pet to take care of?
Thought not.

Get active - or else!

As I write this, DD1 is less than a week into her new life at secondary school.
And the moaning has already started.
The first couple of days she positively skipped down the road to join the big boys and girls at the local comp.
Then last night she came home with a face like a wet weekend in Warsop.
Apparently, she’s been told that she HAS to do six-weeks worth of “out of hours” exercise in her first year.
That is, she has no choice but to “give up” at least six lunch breaks or an hour after school to do something active - like basketball, football, rugby or, shudder, cheerleading.
DD1 thinks this is a gross imposition on her - and frankly, I can’t say I blame her.
Obviously it’s an attempt to encourage kids to do more exercise - which I haven’t got a problem with.
But telling her she “has to” do it seems ludicrously heavy handed.
Even if DD1 was fat, which she ain’t (quite the opposite actually) I really can’t see how giving her six weeks worth of compulsory extra exercise is going to particularly help.
Surely it’s better to provide a bit of motivational support so that kids WANT to do the activities - rather than forcing them into it like a bunch of resentful prisoners.
As it happens, the school have now succeeded in ruining what should have been a really memorable week for DD1 and her mates.
Yeah, I know, maybe she should count herself lucky she hasn’t got other things to worry about. Yadda yadda yadda.
It’s just... well... I could never stand PE either.
All those hideous cross country runs and hockey matches in the rain and dreary gym sessions.
Just the thought of it is enough to make me want to slit my wrists.
My solution was simple though.
Skive off after registration with my best mate and watch Monty Python videos at her house. Ah, Helen Wilkinson - where are you now?
So there you go. After just a few days at a new secondary school, I’m already seriously thinking of encouraging my daughter to skive off.
Isn’t modern education a wonderful thing?

Boys' clothing is just baaaaad!

Why are clothes and accessories for little boys so utterly minging?
It’s not just the obsession with skulls and crossbones and military gubbins, although that’s worrying enough.
It’s all the horrible little slogans that seem oh-so-innocent, yet have such a negative impact.
The other day, I went into McKays in Ilkeston for a new bib for DD2.
At 17 months, she’s decided she is old enough to spoon her dinner into her mouth herself. This is a horribly messy affair, requiring industrial strength protection for her clothing (and my floors and walls, actually).
Anyway, I was delighted to find a suitably large and effective looking bib complete with sleeves in McKays.
It was all pink and lovely and had the slogan “Little Princess” emblazoned on the front.
Aaah.
Then I nipped round to the other side of the display and saw the exact same bib, only this was aimed at boys (obviously, because it was blue).
Only the slogan on the lads’ version was “Naughty Little Monkey.”
Now why does it automatically transpire that the boy will be “naughty” while the girl will be a “princess”?
If any of my offspring were boys, I would be writing a letter to my MP or the PM or Fern Britton or someone to protest about this blatant negative labelling.
And when you think about it, how many times have you seen similar scenes in other shops?
The girls’ clothes all have slogans about puppies and princesses and fairies and angels.
While the boys’ are all cheeky and naughty and monster and trouble.
It’s outrageous.
Call me unreasonable, but I don’t see why children’s clothing designers are so obsessed with having slogans of any sort.
What’s the matter with a nice plain frock or a simple blue tee-shirt anyway? Aren’t they “edgy” enough for modern tots?
So... what’s the worst slogan you’ve seen on a children’s tee-shirt…?

Victory for Iggle Piggle and chums!

Bad Mutha has joyous news to impart this week for anyone with a child aged 0-4 years.
IN THE NIGHT GARDEN IS BACK WHERE IT BELONGS ON THE CBEEBIES BEDTIME HOUR FROM SATURDAY EVENING !!!!!!!!

That means thousands of lickle babies will no longer be bawling their eyes out or refusing to sleep for lack of decent fodder to watch on telly while mum and dad eat their tea or go to the pub.
Readers may remember the Beeb’s controversial decision back in April to callously pull the greatest children’s television show ever produced (fact).
The shocking story was covered in this very blog and caused outrage in every corner of the globe as parents demanded to know why on earth Iggle Piggle, Upsy Daisy and The Pontypines had been replaced by some boring piffle about zoos.
But after shed loads of complaints - led in no small part by Bad Mutha herself - BBC bosses have now admitted that they were hopelessly wrong to move ITNG from its regular slot at 6.20pm.
Okay, actually, they’ve said no such thing.
Instead, they’ve quietly shoved it back in the Bedtime Hour assuming no-one will notice or make a fuss.
But Bad Mutha notices and makes a fuss about everything.
Oh, The Beeb will say it was always intended as just a “temporary move” and they have to “keep their schedules fresh.”
Poppycock.
Would they suddenly drop EastEnders just to “keep their schedules fresh”?
Course they wouldn’t (although it might not be a bad idea the way that show is going).
Sometimes you’ve got to acknowledge the fact that viewers, especially me, know best.
So let’s all look forward to tomorrow night, when we can once again hear the blessed Sir Derek Jacobi uttering those strangely comforting words:
“There’s someone I know, who’s safe and warm and they’re drifting off to sleep...”
There. Doesn't that feel better?

Left holding the baby - HELP!!!!

DD1 and DP are both off on holiday without me for a week from tonight.
Before you ask - no, they’re not going away together. They’d end up murdering each other or causing an international incident or something.
No, DD1 is off on holiday to Somerset with her best mate and family. And DP is going a bit “Ray Mears” - walking the Cornish Coastal Path. Well, you know, as long as it doesn’t rain or get too muddy or anything.
Ordinarily, I would be ecstatic about the thought of spending seven days in the house without those two cramping my style.
But, these days I have a slight irritation to contend with.
DD2 - aged 16 months.
Lordy, it’s hard keeping my psycho toddler entertained.
She can’t keep her mind on anything for more than two seconds. And if she doesn’t get her way immediately then boy is there hell to play.
Usually, I can shirk off and let her big sister or dad take over for a bit while I do something really important, like the dishes or the ironing or watching Coronation Street.
But this will be the longest stretch I’ve ever had to endure with her.... ALONE.
I know other mums seem to manage fine with kids, filling their days with lovely craft activities and book-reading and other fluffy gorgeous stuff.
I usually end up bunging her in the car seat and dragging her round Victoria Centre. Well, she does seem to like it in Monsoon for some reason. Must be all that weird colour.
I do wish I was one of those fabulous mums who is able to spend time with small children and be really brilliant at it.
But much as I love my little monkey, I won’t half be looking forward to those 7pm bedtimes next week so I can crack open the Pinot Grigio.
Anyone got any tips?

I name this baby..... Ethel????!!!

There was one of those classic “let’s point out the bleedin’ obvious” surveys in all the papers this week about baby names that are falling out of fashion.

Apparently, no-one these days wants to call their cute little baby girl Ethel, Norah or Ada.

And for ’ickle boys, names like Ernest, Clifford or Leonard are, amazingly, no longer popular.

Well, of course they’re falling out of fashion. They are all blardy horrible names.

Imagine the looks you’d get at toddler group if your little bundle of fun was doing something naughty.

“Ernest, Ernest... don’t do that dear!”

Cue huge guffaws from other mums for the next three hours.

Mind you, they’re not as bad as some of the slightly more modern names from the 60s and 70s - which sound even more stupid today.

Trevor, Gary, Nigel, Marie, Denise, Sharon - no baby would ever survive with such hideous monikers in 2008.

Naming your baby is a very personal decision, we’re always told.

No, it’s not.

You also have a public duty to ensure your offspring does not end up looking like a total pillock.

Not that I support going for the most "popular" name of the decade either.

If people were banned from calling their son Jack from now on, I wouldn’t be at all bothered.

It is a boring name and there are too many of them. Think of something else.

Similarly, there are quite enough Olivias and Megans, these days.

If you are thinking of calling your children any of these, you are obviously very dull and need to get out more.

Here’s some much better options from the world of showbiz to inspire you...

* Moon Unit (Frank Zappa)

* Jermajesty (Jermaine Jackson)

* Sage Moonblood (Sylvester Stallone)

* Pilot Inspektor (Jason Lee)

* Camera (Arthur Ashe)


Go on, get to the register office quick...

She's a talking miracle...

It’s fair to say that most of the time kids in general and small ones in particular give you nothing but grief.

But okay, I will admit occasionally they do make you laugh.

DD2, who is now 16 months, is currently perfecting her linguistic skills.

I’m told some toddlers don’t talk at all until they’re about three - so I don’t know what’s gone wrong with my nipper.

She’s already got a vocabulary as extensive as most teenagers’.



Cat

More

Sit down

Get down

No

Yes

Teddy

Kitty (fave toy)

Ball

Ninny (drink)

Orange

Apple

Grape

Doggy

Horsey

Pasta

Ham

Cheese

Olive (honest, she’s quite sophisticated)

Mummy (to daddy)

Daddy (to mummy)



Child genius isn’t she?

She also does a very passable rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle - perfectly in tune, of course.

One of my favourites, though, is when a total stranger sees her and gives a friendly smile.

She’ll respond with an evil look and a genuinely threatening: “Wot?”

Most amusing.

Then, there’s her brilliant impressions.

She’s taken to copying most of what the Bad Mutha household says - which means we’ve all had to severely curtail the swearing, abuse and blasphemy.

But we were so proud the other day when a group of students were admiring her as we waited to get on the Dublin to Holyhead ferry.

As they smiled down and said: “Hello!”, she grinned back and did a marvellous: “A-ha!” in the manner of Alan Partridge during his Knowing Me, Knowing You era.

They nearly wet themselves. DD2 was delighted.

So - is my kid a one-off or can your tot say anything supremely funny?

Post your examples here...

I'm sick of being ill...

The Bad Mutha household has had to go into quarantine for the last few days.

DD2 picked up a hideous projectile vomiting bug late last week and gave it to the rest of us one by one.

It’s been like a game of Russian Roulette trying to work out which one of us was going to get it next.

God sometimes it’s rubbish having small kids.

They pick up every single bug going and pass it on without a care in the world.

I don’t think I’ve had a month so far this year when I haven’t had some sort of cold/sickness/feeling generally crap scenario.

Of course, I blame DD2’s toddler group for everything.

She went there last Wednesday. Sure enough the next day she was boffing for Britain.

My suspicions were confirmed when I talked to another mum who goes there - and exactly the same symptoms had emerged at exactly the same time in her little girl.

And then all her family had come down with it too.

Coincidence maybe. I think not. As Arthur C Clarke used to say.

Anyway, the other mum and I both spent an enjoyable half hour bitching about which little toe-rag we thought it was who’d gone to the village hall harbouring all those nasty germs and deliberately passed them on to everyone else.

I suppose the only consolation is knowing his/her family all spent most of this week staring at the bottom of a bog bowl too.

Anyway, wonder who we’ve passed it on to....?

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School's out - but not for everyone!

DD1 is proper hacked off today - again.
All the schools in Notts are celebrating the end of term this weekend - but we live up the A609 in leafy(ish) Derbyshire.
And she has to haul her ass into school on three more occasions next week thanks to good old Derbyshire County Council.
Breaking up next Wednesday instead of today might not seem like the end of the world to you and I.
But when, like DD1, you’re in the last year of primary and you’ve been doing nothing but farting about since about May, it does seem to be unnecessarily prolonging the agony
Course I did point out that Notts kids should officially be going in until Tuesday. They’re only finishing now because most schools decided to have the extra two days as inset days.
DD1’s school on the other hand made the really sensible decision to have inset days two weeks ago.
Logical or what?
Anyway, I’m secretly glad. I still don’t think I’m quite ready for the brand new parental status known as: “not having a child at primary school.”
No more school runs in the pouring rain? No more bitching at the gate with the other mums? No more driving round the streets for three hours looking for a parking space?
How will I ever cope?